Death Never Goes Out Of Style
by Ink Mage
Summary: Flavius muses as he prepares Kadniss for the Quarter Quell. Oneshot


This is hardly my first Hunger Games. I have been grooming and dressing Tributes for nearly thirteen years now. Venia has been here for five years. Cinna and Octavia have both been here for two. And yet never before has a Hunger Games affected me this badly. You see, before I followed Rule Number One of styling for the Hunger Games: Never _ever_ get attached to a Tribute. You know that they probably won't come back

Each time there is a new stylist, there is a shuffle of the prep teams. It encourages the swapping of ideas, and it allows the prep teams to try different styling tactics in case someone thinks that they're good enough to be a stylist in their own right. For this reason, I have worked with many districts—Districts 1, 4, 7, 8, 11 and 12. So I can say with absolute certainty, it always breaks you. Sometimes you get a cocky one from the higher Districts, one who boasts and brags and struts like a peacock. Sometimes you get a shy, nervous child from the middle Districts who gets embarrassed while you prepare her for the makeover. Sometimes you get an angry one from the lower Districts who glares at you as if he wants to tear out your throat with his bare hands. Sometimes they try.

Each one a child. Each one with a family and friends praying that they'll get home safe. Each one unique and special. So you do your best each year, dressing them in finery and scrubbing their skin until it shines. You interact with them, let down your barriers, and sometimes they may even let down theirs. And then they go into the arena… and they die.

I have prepped 12 children for the Hunger Games. Only one has survived, and that may change quickly. I can still remember their names and districts.

Miracle, a mean-tempered girl from District 1, who wanted to kill to make her Champion father proud.

Tibernius from District 1—a quiet boy who liked to read and didn't make it past the brawl at the Cornucopia.

Then Fir—a boy from District 7 who took a swing at his stylist and ended up going into the Arena tranquilized. He died because his attack meant that no one would sponsor him.

Then Althea—a girl from District 8 who helped to make her own interview outfit.

Then Hardie from District 4, who refused to let me in the room while she was naked. I ended up doing her hair.

After that there was Muscida, whose fishing skills from District 4 kept her alive until the final four. Then there was Aster from District 11—a boy who could identify dozens of birds, but not the type that flocked to kill him.

Then Ivy from District 12—a 12 year old who just wanted to go home to her mum.

Then Jasmine from District 11—a female tribute who killed herself rather than murder the 13-year old boy from District 8 who became Champion.

Glory from District 1—a giggly bouncy girl without a sensible thought in her head.

Holt from District 7, who got betrayed by one of his alliances in the last day of the game.

And then… Katniss.

Cinna was right to call Katniss 'the girl on fire'. She was one of the ones who hated us (although she didn't try to swing at any of us). That made it easier in a way. If they hate you, you can dislike them, and it hurts less when they die. So I played up the Capitol prep role—gossiping with Octavia over the dresses people wore to her party, sighing with Venia over the state of Katniss' hair. Focusing on myself helped me to not get attached. Except… Katniss didn't die. She fought, and tricked, and played the romance card as often as possible, and got herself and the boy Tribute, Peeta, out.

So I let myself go. I stopped being the plastic Capitol citizen that she had known. I let her get to know Flavius—the man who just wanted to make clothes, but was forced into the Hunger Games business by a dominating aunt. The man who likes to play the violin and who collects strange items from Panem's history—strange things like music players and what they apparently called i-Pads. The man who had just fallen in love with a baker who sang the most beautiful songs while she pulled the cakes out of the oven.

I got attached. I thought there was no harm in it—after all, she made it out alive. I even talked to her over the years while Cinna made clothes for her 'Talent'. And then, it happened—the Quarter Quell. And I knew what it meant—Katniss was going back into the arena against men and women much older than her, quite a few in the prime of their lives. And I thought her odds were bad before. Hah.

We're preparing Katniss for her ride into the interviews—again. Octavia lasted all of five minutes before crying and leaving the room. I'm not surprised. I used to cry for the Tributes too, but now I feel like I've run out of tears. Tears for Miracle, for Tibernius, for Fir, Althea, Hardie, Muscida, Aster, Ivy, Jasmine, Glory, Holt, Katniss… tears for myself. After your first four Hunger Games, you learn how to build a wall around your heart, pretend to be happy all the time, and continue with your work.

Venia touches my hand gently, to get my attention. I blink in surprise. I swipe at my eyes, and curse myself when my hand comes away wet. Katniss looks up at me, and her eyes seem to be begging. _'You hate this too. You're sensible and kind. Why won't you stop them? How can you abandon me?' _I gently lay down the scissors and leave the room. For the next hour, I will find some quiet corner to cry in. I am grateful for Venia right now. Since she is strong, I can be weak. And I am weak. After all, I broke Rule Number One. I got attached.

I know what I must do. After thirteen years as a prep member for the Hunger Games, I will resign. I can't work on another child and know that they won't come back. I can't pretend that the world revolves around sequins and feathers. I can't add another name to the list.


End file.
